


The Tuxedo

by wordywarrior



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 21:11:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17711660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordywarrior/pseuds/wordywarrior
Summary: For: @captain-rogers-beard - Love All the Marvel Ships Challenge – 28 Days of LovePrompt: #8: In Formal WearPairing: Steve/BuckyWord Count: 1,063





	The Tuxedo

**Author's Note:**

> For: @captain-rogers-beard - Love All the Marvel Ships Challenge – 28 Days of Love  
> Prompt: #8: In Formal Wear  
> Pairing: Steve/Bucky  
> Word Count: 1,063

 

 

 

Bucky hated parties. Everyone knew it, yet, they kept inviting him, and like an idiot, he kept showing up. Even though he loathed it, he kept RSVP’ing, kept attending, because he truly was a glutton for punishment.

Most of the time, he sat in the corner and kept to himself, but this time was different.

It was different because Steve showed up wearing _the_ tuxedo. He shook hands, kissed some babies, and posed for photos, all the while moving around the room and in that damn tux…

Nobody knew it, but Steve had almost gotten married once. Bucky had even helped him pick out the ring and plan the proposal. Steve was his best friend and that was what best friends did – they showed up and stood by you, even if they were dying inside, and wishing you wouldn’t do something as stupid as marry a woman you weren’t in love with.

Bucky remembered watching him get fitted. Remembered how carefully the tailor measured him because he was Captain America and it was a big deal. He remembered how still and stoic Steve looked, as if his mind were made up, and he wasn’t going to turn back. Steve wasn’t excited, he was resolute, and that just… It wasn’t right.

And he remembered the dressing room. The hands, lips, teeth, and tongue. How Steve begged and how Bucky bit into his own forearm to keep himself quiet. That it was too fast, but in that moment, so right.

They fit together so perfectly, so easily, and yet, they just as easily fell apart.

It had been eight months. Eight months since Steve broke off his engagement. Eight months of silence because they couldn’t look at each other, let alone speak to each other. Eight months of pain, guilt, and feeling ashamed, not because of who he was or who he wanted, but because he’d destroyed that woman’s dreams, and she’d been nothing but kind to both Steve and him afterward.

It didn’t just hurt – it was _agonizing_.

Bucky knew he was staring, but then again, so was everyone else. Steve was such a presence and there wasn’t a single person who could stand near him and not be moved by him. Though people got up from their seats or stopped mid-conversation to rush him, Bucky stayed put.

His guts were spilling out onto the floor, but he stayed put.

Sometime later, they made eye contact; like two magnets, their gazes were drawn together, held steadily and assuredly even from across a crowded room.

There are moments – just before something happens – when the body can no longer be controlled. Like a light switch being flipped, blood starts rushing, emotions start flooding, pressure builds, and then, there is just no containing it.

Bucky could feel it happening and he couldn’t stop it. All it took was a glance to make his pulse jump and he knew he was in trouble. Steve arose to his feet and began walking over. Bucky, on the other hand, stood up abruptly, and hauled ass.  

When he made it to the men’s room, it was empty, and he was grateful. The water was ice-cold and felt good against his too-hot skin. The towel he eventually used to wipe his face and eyes was terrycloth and embossed with the hotel’s logo. Bucky’s eyes honed in on the small, gently swooping ‘S,’ and he remembered again.

He remembered a fingertip on his shoulder. The curve of the same letter traced against his skin…

“Damn it,” Bucky snapped, slamming his fist down on the marble counter. “Fucking damn it!”

A small explosion – that was all he allowed himself before he smoothed down his jacket, adjusted his tie, and rearranged his expression. The mirror reflected what he wanted to see in himself – someone who was unaffected and put together – but it only showed the surface, and didn’t betray what was beneath.

Bucky turned away and headed for the door. When it swung open, Steve was standing just outside of it, his hand hanging mid-air as if he’d been debating on whether or not to enter. Someone sucked in a sharp breath, but he wasn’t sure who.

Between one blink and the next, Bucky felt Steve plant his hand right in the center of his chest, and push him back into the bathroom. The surprising action meant he hit the wall hard, and could only watch as Steve stalked in after him, forced the door shut, and locked it.  

He opened his mouth to say something – anything – by way of response, but Steve cut him off by reaching for his tie and hauling him forward.

“I’ve had enough,” Steve choked out raggedly. “Do you hear me? I’ve had enough.”

His kiss was hard and bruising and Bucky felt it all the way down to his marrow. It was the first thing he’d felt in almost a year -- it filled and overflowed, wringing both a moan of pleasure and relief from his throat. There was nothing standing between them now – nothing to make them hesitate – which meant they both took what they wanted and needed from each other.

The two of them struggled to maintain the kiss while they pulled and pushed off the clothing that barred them from each other’s skin. Bucky was spun around to face the wall and though the tile was cold, Steve was right there, chest molded against his back, hands moving eagerly over his hips to the buckle of his belt. His lips, teeth, and tongue were everything Bucky remembered, and as soon as his pants were gone, Steve’s hand was wrapped tight around him, and Bucky swore he saw stars.

He arched greedily into that touch, loped his arm around the back of Steve’s neck, and offered himself freely. Steve’s breath was nothing more than sharp pants, and when their bodies were finally joined, they both called out each other’s names, and sagged with relief.  

“Never again,” Steve rasped in his ear. “Never walk away from me again.”

Bucky groaned and gripped a fistful of his hair, “Never.”

Steve made him promise, so, he did. With every breathless, frantic touch, he promised. With each second that clamored toward release, he promised. And when Steve held him afterward and finally whispered, ‘I love you, Buck,’ he said it right back, and he promised.

With everything in him, he promised.


End file.
